An Unexpected Princess
by laureleaf
Summary: The dwarves are returning to the Lonely Mountain. One in particular wishes to speak with the infamous Burglar of the Company.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This one is for englishtutor, who requested another LotR fic. I'm so grateful for all of your support through the many years I've been posting on this site!

* * *

There was an authoritative ring on Bilbo Baggins' doorbell. He sighed, setting aside his paperwork (yes, he was actually alive, thank you very much, and his property was still definitely his, regardless of what the Sackville-Bagginses may say) and pushing back his chair. He considered ignoring the door: he was quite sick of solicitors and gossip-mongerers interrupting his long-awaited peace. But then the bell rang again, and he heard some deep-throated muttering and heavy stamping feet shifting on his doormat.

Those were no hobbits at his door.

Bilbo fingered his ring in his pocket as he nervously peeked out his window. He had no desire to confront any of the Big Folk: if he waited long enough, they might leave. But it wasn't Men or Elves at his door. It was Dwarves.

Hundreds of them. He could see them trailing down the road through the Shire for as far as he could see through his study window. Dwarves, dwarrowdams, even dwarflings. All were laden down with bundles and packs, and all were covered with a fine sheen of road dust. It was a miracle that he'd not noticed their presence sooner.

 _They're returning to the Lonely Mountain_ , he thought with a start. That was, after all, the whole point of the Company and Quest. To return the people of Durin to their homeland. It was one thing to know and quite another to actually see it happen, of course. Similar to how a dragon is a very interesting topic of discussion until it is staring at you with an eye larger than you are.

But why were the dwarves knocking on _his_ door? All of the ones he knew were half a continent away in Erebor. Bilbo cautiously turned the knob, careful to stand to one side in case his visitors had the inclination to pile upon his welcoming mat like the last clumsy bunch.

Bilbo thought he knew dwarves. He had traveled and fought with thirteen of them for months. He knew silly dwarves and serious dwarves, greedy dwarves and generous dwarves, clever dwarves and dim dwarves. But the dwarrowdam on his doorstep was unlike any dwarf he had ever met.

She was _regal_.

Not like Thorin, with his brooding majesty, remnants of a royal heritage lost, although he could see hints of his stance in her posture. Not like Kili, with his deep-set pride and overzealous patriotism, although he sensed her loyalties were no less fierce. And not like Fili, with his quiet strength and loud entitlement, although he could see something of his personality in her sharp blue eyes.

She was like all of them, and yet not like them at all.

"Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins, at your service, your highness," he bowed low in the dwarven fashion. He knew the proper motions and posture for royalty: Balin had taught him for Dain's coronation. Bilbo was sure his execution was rusty, but hopefully she would not take offense.

He saw her eyes widen a fraction in surprise before she answered with deep bow of her own. Balin wasn't familiar enough with the intricacies of dwarven culture to know the full meaning behind the subtle gestures, but he _was_ sure he did not deserve the honor they implied. Especially not from this particular dwarrowdam.

"Dís, daughter of Thrain, at yours."


	2. Chapter 2

~One Year Ago~

"You never told me who your father was," Bilbo noted as he stirred the stew. Kili had managed to shoot a rabbit earlier that morning, and it smelled delicious. Fili deftly chopped more carrots, in blatant defiance of Bombur's ban against his participation in any food preparation after last week's fiasco.

"Lodin, son of Lindon, but we usually go after our mother's side," the elder prince supplied. "That's where we get our royal heritage, you know?"

"Besides, Adad died before I could walk, so I've always felt like more of our mother's son anyway," Kili added. "She's larger than life, while Adad, well... isn't."

"Tell me about her," Bilbo encouraged, sensing that Lodin was a painful subject of discussion. "I don't know much of anything about lady dwarves."

"First of all, they're called dwarrowdams," Kili tried to sneak a taste of the stew and got a rap across his knuckles with a spoon for his troubles. "Ow! No fair!"

"Serves you right," Bilbo chastised him. "So, dwarrowdams?"

"I'm not surprised you don't know much," Kili nursed his stinging hand. "Only one in three dwarflings are born female, so there aren't many of them. And Men get them confused with dwarven males when they do see them, which isn't often."

"Why's that?" Bilbo questioned.

"They grow beards," Fili laughed at the shocked look on Bilbo's face. "The lasses' are often shorter than the lads, but I've known plenty that can grow a fuller one than my raggedy brother," Fili teased. "Amad, for one."

"Their voices are deeper than human women. Louder too," Kili winced. "I swear, when Amad was mad you could hear her voice echo back from the Lonely Mountain."

"Which was something that happened often, I imagine, raising the two of you," Bilbo joked. The brothers laughed in agreement.

"Amad is..." Kili paused, thinking. "Well, simply put she's the most formidable and powerful dwarrowdam this side of…"

"Anywhere," Fili finished. "Even Thorin listens to her."

"She's smart as well as stubborn," Kili smiled. "Brilliant, even. Amad can hold her own in a debate against Balin, for sure. And her handwriting is way better than his too: most of our treaties with the local Men are in her hand."

"And it's not just her pen and her tongue you have to worry about. Her sword is quite sharp too. I've seen her take down Dwalin," Fili said with a twinkle in his eye.

"You must be exaggerating," Bilbo scoffed. "There's no possible way a lady would…"

"She did, and he deserved it," Thorin smiled as he stepped into the light of the fire. "It was quite a delight to see. Dís is a force to be reckoned with."

"Then why isn't she part of the Company?" Bilbo asked. "She sounds like she'd be a great addition, better than me at least. Then you wouldn't have to worry about being an unlucky 13 and you wouldn't have to worry about looking out for me."

"I dearly miss my sister," the leader of the Company said in a rare show of personal feeling as sat down. "But you misunderstand, Master Hobbit. We do not suffer our ladies to travel in the lands of Men unless under extreme duress. They are so few, and are very precious to us. Besides, I would trust no other with the leadership of our people while we are away. I rest easy at night, knowing that they are safe and well-cared-for in her hands."

Bilbo just nodded in understanding and stirred the stew.

"I'm looking forward to introducing you," Thorin added contemplatively. "I'm very interested to see what she thinks of our lucky Burglar."

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A/N: There's no record of Fili and Kili's father, so I just used the name consistent with my own headcannon. Absolutely nothing is known about Dís's character, so that's all my imagination too.

It is cannon that male dwarves outnumber females 2:1 and that the ladies grow beards. Apparently most males focus on their crafts and therefore do not marry. Additionally, dwarves fight (and consequently die in battle) quite a lot. However, the lack of ladies certainly contributed to the gradual dwindling of the race over time.

Notes on the language: Tolkien hated the plural 'dwarfs' and used 'dwarrow' and 'dwarrowdams' instead. "Amad' and "Adad" are khuzdul terms for "Mother" and "Father" respectively.


	3. Chapter 3

_He saw her eyes widen a fraction in surprise before she answered in a warm voice and a deep bow of her own, "Dís, daughter of Thrain, at yours."_

* * *

"Welcome to my humble home," Bilbo hurried to say as he opened the door even further. "And do bring some of your people if you like, I'm afraid I don't have enough to properly host more than a dozen though, my larder is still recovering…" he babbled, remembering the last unexpected party. He wasn't quite ready for another adventure yet: he had just gotten home, for heaven's sakes!

"I wish to speak with you alone, if I may," Lady Dís gently interrupted. It rather seemed like he had interrupted her, although he was the one that had been talking.

"Of course, yes, that's fine," he muttered as he helped her remove her travel cloak. Bilbo noted the two guards at the door, and suspected that there would be more guarding the other entrances to his home. He made a mental note to bring them refreshments later.

"Come in, come in… It's almost teatime; is there anything particular I can get for you? I just put on the kettle and I have…"

"Just tea, thank you," she said as she gracefully sat down in one of his worn chairs. He could feel her eyes on him as he ran around his kitchen. He wished he had baked more seed biscuits yesterday as he set out his best china. When everything was finally arranged to his flustered satisfaction, he collapsed in his chair. To his slight surprise, Dís had waited to begin until he had joined her.

Dís's eyebrow cocked in surprise as she sampled her tea. "You make an excellent brew, Master Hobbit."

Bilbo muttered some depreciating reply. The initial shock of having another dwarf in his home so soon after… well, _after_ , was starting to wear off, allowing him to actually take note of her appearance. She was the same height as Thorin, with the same raven-black hair, although hers was coming in light grey around the roots. She wore it pulled back from her face in a single thick braid accented with a handful of silver clips. Her ears were heavily pierced, but the jewelry she wore was small and simply decorated. Her beard was full and short, with understated silver beads frosting her jawline. Her eyes, as Bilbo had noticed earlier, were the same vibrant blue as Fili's, while her other features bore more resemblance to Kili's. Her clothing was of the tough cloth and finely worked leather favored by the dwarves. Despite its well-worn and travel-stained state, she wore it as if she were dressed in the finest silks and gems. To his surprise, Bilbo noted knives strapped to her forearms. Even royal dwarrowdams, it would seem, went nowhere unarmed.

"Now what do I owe the honor of your visit, milady?" Bilbo asked politely.

"I would think that my purpose would be obvious," she said quietly as she placed her cup into her saucer with a small _clink_ , "Especially to the fourteenth member of the Company."


	4. Chapter 4

_"Now what do I owe the honor of your visit, milady?" Bilbo asked politely._

 _"I would think that my purpose would be obvious," she said quietly as she placed her cup into her saucer with a small clink, "Especially to the fourteenth member of the Company."_

* * *

He instantly felt like a fool for not connecting the pieces sooner. An uncourteous and insensitive fool at that.

"I…" he started, his throat closing up with grief. He'd worked so hard to forget over the last few months. It made the memories no easier to bear now. "I'm so sorry for your loss, milady."

And it was such a monumental loss, Bilbo realized suddenly. Not just her brother, but her two sons as well. And with her parents and husband long dead, that meant she was the last of her family. Just like Bilbo, actually.

"Of all the times I've heard that sentiment recently, I do believe that is the first time it was truly meant sincerely," Dís gave him a bittersweet smile. "Thank you, Bilbo, son of Bungo."

Bilbo ducked his head and took a nibble of his biscuit, unsure of how to respond. He'd already blundered this meeting so badly already.

Thankfully, the lady took charge of the floundering conversation. "That said, I did not come here for condolences. I came for information." She went on to explain that she'd received short letters from Thorin postmarked from Bywater and Rivendell, outlining the Company's misadventures so far. She'd also heard a rumor from some of her Elven contacts that Thranduil had taken them captive, but that nothing could be confirmed. Ravens had arrived in the dwarven settlement approximately two weeks after the Battle, bringing verbal messages of the royal family's deaths and Dain's coronation.

"I hope…" Dís paused as she took a steadying breath, "I hope you will be willing to give me more details than what those bare messages contained. If I may impose upon your hospitality, I can stay three days if that is what your tale requires."

Bilbo took a fortifying sip of tea and wished it was something much stronger.

"You are welcome here for as long as you like, milady," he said after he was sure of his voice.

"Dís, please," she insisted. "You are part of the Company, which affords you honor. From Thorin's letters I know you saved their lives at least once, which grants you familiarity."

"As you wish," Bilbo bit his lip and ducked his head. "Although I daresay I do not deserve that honor, especially considering all of my many failings during our adventure."

"That is for me to decide," Dís said authoritatively. "But if you care to dissuade me, I look forward to hearing your arguments." If Bilbo wasn't so wrong-footed, he might have noticed the twinkle of teasing in her sharp eyes. As it was, he busied himself with cleaning up the dishes in order to have something to do to fill the awkward silence.

Bilbo's hands trembled slightly as he started stacking the dirty plates. He couldn't do this. He couldn't even bring himself to even _think_ of Thorin most days, much less talk about how he… no. Royalty or not, he was just going to have to say no. Balin could tell Dís more anyway, and they already knew each other from Before. Better to hear it from an old friend than a total stranger that knew next to nothing about her people and their customs.

Dís stood and began to help him with the dishes as well. He almost dropped his stack of plates in surprise. As it was, a knife slipped from the top of the stack to clatter upon the floor.

" _Blunt the knives, bend the forks…"_

Bilbo found himself humming the tune under his breath despite himself as he bent down to retrieve the utensil.

"Smash the bottles and burn the corks," Dís sang in a clear alto voice. Bilbo turned to stare at her in utter shock.

"Where did you think they learned that song?" she smiled, crinkling the crows feet around her eyes. Somehow, it made her look decades younger.

"Honestly?" Bilbo scrambled to gather his scattered thoughts and silverware. "I thought they made it up on the spot."

"Let me guess… they changed the last line to 'that's what Bilbo Baggins hates'?" He nodded, and she chuckled. "It was originally 'that's what tired mothers hate' _._ Lodin, my husband, wrote it for me many years ago. He had quite the sense of humor, for a poet." Her eyes turned misty. "It's the little things, the mundane memories, that stay with you once they're gone," she sighed, and Bilbo could see the grief lines clearly on her face for the first time. Her true age was evident, as well as the weight of those years. Bilbo swallowed hard. As difficult as this was going to be for him, it was going to be so much worse for her. He felt his eyes tear up in compassion. After everything Thorin and Fili and Kili did for him, the very least he could do was to offer Dís what comfort he could.

"Come," he placed the dishes in the sink for later and led her to his sitting room. How to begin? Bilbo's eyes strayed to his mantleplace, and the array of pipes he'd arranged there. They fixed on one in particular.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked.

"Only if you do not mind if I take notes," she replied. "My memory is not the best, and I do not wish to forget a single word."

Bilbo picked up his longest pipe as she pulled out a small red-leather bound book from her pocket. He busied himself with packing the Longbottom Leaf just so as he gathered his thoughts. He'd not told this story to anyone, not even himself, and he wanted to get it right.

Bilbo pulled a large gulp of sweet smoke into his lungs and just held it there for a moment, letting it relax him as well as to remind him. He closed his eyes and thought back to that fateful morning as he exhaled a perfect smoke ring. Bilbo let himself sink into the memories until he could almost smell the bacon and eggs he'd fried that day, and hear the crinkle of dew-wet grass under his feet as he walked out of his freshly-painted green door.

"It all started, for me at least, when I met Gandalf. I was smoking this very pipe on my porch after breakfast when I saw an old man in a long grey cloak coming down the road. He had a great big pointy hat on his head and carried nothing but a long twisted staff. He was very tall, even for a Man, and his beard was almost long enough to tuck into his belt. I said 'good morning', because that was the polite thing to do, you know. I didn't actually wish to speak with a stranger, especially one so strange as him. I'm a Baggins of Bag End, and I have a reputation to uphold, after all. Or at least I used to…" Bilbo took a fortifying puff of smoke. "In any case, he replied in the most peculiar way…"

* * *

A/N: Smoking is very bad for you and everyone around you, and I am not trying to encourage it in any way. But unfortunately there aren't any pulmonologists in Middle Earth to tell hobbits to stop trashing their lungs.

Sorry for the multiple re-postings of the last chapter... First I forgot all the little accents on Dís's name, and then I forgot that Bilbo is the fourteenth member of the Company, not the thirteenth. Silly me. Hopefully this extra-long chapter makes up for it.

Thanks for reading/reviewing/favoriting/following!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Looks like this story isn't done with me yet... No particular warnings for this chapter. Note on the language:** **Tharkûn is the dwarven name for Gandalf.**

* * *

Dís wasn't quite sure what she'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't _this_.

Thorin had been beside himself about the selection of the 14th member of the Company. Not in any obvious way, of course. He was the king, after all, in action if not in name, and he would never let himself be controlled by something so ridiculous as mere superstition. But Oin had warned against the unlucky number, and insisted that the fourteenth member needed to be an foreigner, and everyone knew Oin read the portents true. So Thorin worried. The Exiles of the Lonely Mountain had learned their lesson even while the fires of Smaug still burned: outsiders were not to be trusted. The more important the task, the less you could trust them. Reclaiming Erebor was of utmost importance: Thorin barely trusted his own with the task, nevermind an stranger. All that aside, Tharkûn promised to find someone, and they'd had little choice but to put their faith in him.

Dís thought that maybe the wizard would bring a dwarf from another clan, or perhaps one of the Dúnedain. If he was being particularly petulant he might have decided to choose some elf. For all their many faults, the Eldar _were_ perilous fighters and skilled herbalists. But never in her wildest dreams would Dís have imagined that the wizard would select a hobbit. And certainly not _this_ particular hobbit.

Bilbo himself was everything a proper halfling should be. His feet hair were neatly brushed, his waistcoat of a sturdy but timelessly fashionable material and cut, his manners impeccable if a bit nervous. Dís found herself distinctly underwhelmed. _This_ was the being who had crossed half of Arda, faced a dragon, and had survived a battle that had killed some of her people's greatest warriors? If it wasn't for the small notice in flowery script posted on the front gate she might have thought she was at the wrong place.

" _Bilbo Baggins is_ _not_ _dead. Do not disturb unless returning items from the auction. Thank you."_

If that wasn't enough, she could see just the edge of Tharkûn's mark on the bottom edge of the door. It had been recently painted over, but the magic still shone through unhindered. There could be no mistake, but there was also no way that _this_ was the famed Bilbo Baggins. Not this wide-eyed lad with his untidy garden and politely rude signage.

Thorin had been less than thrilled at first too. His letters spoke of a self-centered boy who knew nothing about anything and was more focused on his creature comforts than contributing the the Quest. He expressed anger at Tharkûn for saddling them with someone who couldn't take care of himself when they were already strapped for time and resources. Dís was honestly surprised that Thorin hadn't left Bilbo on the side of the road and told him to return home after the first week, for his own good if no one else's.

The other hobbits she'd spoken with said that Bilbo was a bit odd now, even for someone with Took blood, whatever that was supposed to mean. There was no reason to disbelieve their sincerity, but she could see no obvious signs to support their assessment. At least, not until he'd bowed with more grace and precision than either one of her sons had ever shown. The fact that his hand motions were for the coronation of a male from the Iron Hills did not diminish her amazement in the slightest. Balin, for only Balin would think to add that traditional but rarely used pinky curl, had certainly coached this one well.

Bilbo's home was much like his flowerbeds: recovering after a long absence. All of the furnishings were of the highest quality and craftsmanship, but there was a sense of… displacement. Everything was just a tad too bare and yet a touch too cluttered. The furnishings seemed unbalanced, like there _should_ be another cabinet in that corner or another chair around that table. There were no pictures on the wall, but slight discolorations in the wallpaper made it clear that paintings once hung there. Stacks of books and boxes were tucked into the corners of most of the rooms they passed through. This was a house in the midst of a move: she knew the look because her own home looked very similar for weeks before she left for the last time.

Bilbo fluttered about the kitchen like a butterfly, quickly setting a slightly overembellished tea service. Dís had been served hobbit tea before, and was not exactly looking forward to the weak and oversweet brew. She was pleasantly surprised when Bilbo's tea turned out to be more like coffee: black and strong and bitter. As it should be. The seed biscuits complimented the rich brew perfectly. Clearly the hobbit had been cooking with Bombur: she knew of no one else who used that specific blend of spices. Overall, it was delicious, and Dís was suitably impressed.

Bilbo had just started to relax when Dís mentioned her purpose in visiting. The change was instant and jarring. Gone was the competent albeit nervous host: here was a shocked and grieving survivor bravely putting on the facade of normalcy. She knew the look, because she stared it in the eye every morning. When he expressed his condolences, it was with the weight of _understanding_ and shared loss that made her own throat go tight. Dís hadn't thought it was possible for someone, especially a hobbit, to grieve like that for someone not of their kin. It was clear that he was not prepared to speak of what had happened, but he was too polite to refuse her outright. Frankly, Dís was not prepared to hear of what had truly happened, but she was too pressed for time to indulge her weakness. Or Bilbo's, if it came to that.

But the hobbit managed to surprise her once again, quickly rallying and leading her into his disheveled but well-lit study. She noted one of Bifur's hand-carved pipes on the mantle as she took her seat. The chairs were old, but well-cared-for. The cushions were a blessing to her travel-sore back. Bilbo courteously found her a writing board for her journal, and a fresh pen and bottle of ink in case she should have need of them.

For a while, they sat in meditative silence. He reminded her of Thorin, his eyes distant and his jaw tight as he remembered battles long lost and friends long returned to stone, tobacco smoke curling around his face like a cloud. But when Bilbo finally began to speak, he spoke with the quiet authority and detailed imagery of a master storyteller.


End file.
